


Heel

by Lymphadei



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consensual, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Shameless Smut, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymphadei/pseuds/Lymphadei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a well-known Alpha tamer, following in the footsteps of his now retired mentor, Victor Trevor. He meets his match when he is introduced to John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heel

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my very first commission for the lovely Mimamia, who was so very sweet and understanding of how terribly long it took to churn this little fic out. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this gift!

"Another sorry sod waitin' for you downstairs, gov. Should I send 'em away?" 

Sherlock rubbed the furrowed skin between his eyes with soothing fingers, resisting the urge to allow the frustrated growl from leaving his lips. The day had been terrible. Four hours with the likes of Sebastian Wilkes would drive anyone to shoving a biro into their own throats. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was quite ready for another.

Alphas. All of them were incompetent fools incapable of overcoming their biological imperative to rut any willing orifice to come their way. They allowed their bodies to rule them, take over their most valuable possession: the mind. It grated. Sherlock couldn't remember a time in which an interaction with an Alpha was even slightly stimulating and didn't end with a proposition.

Sherlock's flat still smelled of feral Alpha pheromones and _Sebastian._

He'd been training the idiot for nearly three weeks now into some semblance of a competent being after losing his mate to another Alpha. Sebastian went feral shortly after, and was brought to Sherlock as a last resort. Tame him, or Sebastian would be ousted from his company. 

Honestly, it hadn't taken much. After three sessions, Sebastian went from an acrimonious infant to a simpering buffoon who more than excelled in the art of straining every one of Sherlock's nerves. Not a session would pass without Sherlock threatening to break every bone in the man's body if Sebastian attempted to take liberties with any part of his body again. Sherlock found the very thought of being touched by those grimy hands as repulsive and conducive to the makings of a migraine.

Sherlock turned to Billy, his protégé, fidgeting hesitantly in the doorway, no doubt, sensing the short tether Sherlock held onto his temper. His sharp eyes could spot a bead of sweat trailing down from Billy's hairline and over his temple. 

Like Sherlock, Billy was an Omega, though less restrained and therefore, the surge of pheromones were affecting him. Sherlock made sure that the both of them maintained a plethora of suppressants on hand and ready aids for emergency situations, such as false Heats and unintentional Alpha ruts. There would be no Heats taking place in Sherlock's flat, not that he'd found anyone even slightly worthy of sharing one with.

Sherlock sighed, turning back to the window. "Send them up," Sherlock replied, itching for a cigarette. Even with the suppressants, Alpha pheromones could be overpowering and troublesome to Sherlock's temperament after a long day of being exposed to them.

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the glass, listening to Billy clamber down the stairs to retrieve their guests. One last session, and Sherlock could indulge in his favourite pastime. The dirt experiment he left to sit overnight wouldn't classify itself.

The sound of two sets of footsteps pulled Sherlock's attention to the door. Billy didn't usually escort the guests up, mostly pointed them in the general direction with an unrefined thumb jerk over his shoulders that Sherlock found amusing, if only for the confusion it would elicit.

A woman, and the other, most certainly a man. 

Sherlock recalled the last time he'd worked with a female Alpha. 

Irene Adler. 

He'd enjoyed her intelligence, but often despaired of her brazen attempts to seduce Sherlock into spreading his legs for her. The woman had sought him out, which in itself was unusual. An Alpha would rather die than suffer being tamed at the hands of an Omega, but that was the thrill of the Game for Irene. 

Irene couldn't be tamed, but like Sherlock, she enjoyed their 'foreplay'. However, after a while of playing, Sherlock found her tedious, and eventually their _work_ relationship dwindled until her visits stopped altogether. 

The number of female Alphas he'd taken could be counted on one hand. No matter. Women weren't really his area, A/B/O or human.

Sherlock could hear them bickering before they'd even stepped through the door, the woman's voice pitched high and stentorian. "Oh, shut it, you! We wouldn't be here if you could control yourself," the woman huffed, banging through the door without so much as a by-your-leave. "If you're going to be so maudlin about it, I should just let you suffer on your own."

The man trailed behind her in a sulk, grumbling in a resigned undertone, "It would be a mercy."

Siblings, then, Sherlock concluded. The pair were of similar stature of the short and stocky variety, with identical blond hair and a deep enough blue that they appeared like murky water at a distance. So, twins, both Alpha.

The male was the one who held Sherlock's attention. The blond limped up and down the room nervously, balling and releasing his fists in aggravation. His pheromones were strong, but not overbearing, and the smell of them tickled at the edge of Sherlock's senses like a light caress. 

Those murky eyes flicked up to Sherlock, and for a moment, he glimpsed the primal need that he should be well accustomed to seeing when an Alpha stared at him. Instead, Sherlock found that it made his stomach flutter uncomfortably. Finally, the man looked away and continued to pace until the woman cleared her throat carefully.

Sherlock turned his narrowed eyes to her, already having forgotten her presence in the room.  
"Harry Watson," she introduced herself, thrusting a hand out between them. Sherlock flicked his eyes down to the hand, and back to her face dismissively. Sherlock didn't feel inclined to indulge in niceties. He only wished to speed past the greeting and get straight to _why_ these twins were darkening his doorstep.

Unable, or unwilling, to keep his eyes away, Sherlock swept his gaze back to the male wearing a hole in his floor. 

This Alpha was not entirely unpleasant to behold, Sherlock mused, admittedly finding his own eyes lingering attentively on the man's tensed biceps, muscular but not overly so. He was shorter than Sherlock, but his overpowering presence more than made up for the height difference. 

"That would be the reason why we're here," the woman, Harry, cut in again, and Sherlock felt a spark of annoyance at the interruption of his perusal. "John," she snapped, and like a good soldier, the man paused in his pacing and came to stand before them.

Sherlock could feel the energy from this stranger- John, a steady current of static electricity surrounding him like a shroud. Even with the air of self assurance, John wouldn't meet his eyes, refused to say a word and kept his gaze firmly on his feet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. He could almost hear the self-deprecating thoughts, dull and predictable. "Self-flagellation is tedious and unnecessary. We all have our demons." 

Sherlock didn't know why he felt the need to reassure John, but just to wipe that pitiable grimace off his face, Sherlock would say anything. 

When John's eyes finally met his, they flashed, something dark and lovely trembling just beneath the surface of them. Sherlock felt himself compelled to move closer, but as always, mind won over body and Sherlock was able to distance himself from the Alpha.

Taking care to keep a neutral countenance, Sherlock set a steady glare on his guests, annoyed at the lack of progress.

John Watson was not only a mystery, but a challenge. Sherlock never could pass one up.

"I see," he murmured, and the Alpha male visibly bristled at the declaration, balling his fists by his sides. For some odd reason, the visual display excited Sherlock. 

John stepped closer, cocking his head to the side in an aggressive stance, and Sherlock watched, feeling a quiver in his abdomen, a tiny flutter that made him blink in confusion. "Oh really, then," John enquired with forced calm. "Tell me, what do you 'see'." The emphasis on the word was mocking, but Sherlock could see that his reluctant client was curious.

Sherlock allowed his eyes a slow once-over, trailing his eyes over the five-year old, second hand trainers, sensible beige trousers, and the hideous yet innocuous chartreuse jumper. The man seemed harmless enough, but... 

The callouses on his fingers, which John had clearly developed a fair while ago, hinted at long term use of a firearm. While it was not unheard of for a civilian to carry a weapon (though highly unlikely) - Sherlock could easily get hold of one by less than legal means - John's hair was just beginning to grow from a standard military cut. So, a soldier. John didn't seem like a very aggressive man by nature, simply a dominant personality. Although his body language was a clear indication that he'd rather be elsewhere, John obviously felt a responsibility towards his sister. Though the twins were both Alphas, John was the superior of the two, he could easily have ordered Harry to stand down. No. This was an issue that John knew needed to be addressed, although he was unwilling to acknowledge so aloud. 

The man was practically vibrating with pent up energy and the Omega in Sherlock wondered what it would be like to surrender himself to all that power.

Clamping down furiously on those thoughts, Sherlock smiled tightly at John and simply raised a brow in slight amusement. If John were like every other Alpha, the wordless insult would render him angry and useless. Alphas never thought with their brains, merely allowed instincts to rule them. To Sherlock, it both made his job easier and frustratingly mundane.

"Christ, John," Harry blurted, folding her arms across her chest. Though she was smaller and less broad of chest, the resemblance in mannerisms between the siblings was striking. "Try not to be such a prick! I've been standing here for five minutes watching you attempt to bludgeon him with your eyes!"

Of course, that was inaccurate. It had been three minutes, during which, like any man of war, John was assessing his opponent. The thought of finally, _finally_ , finding someone who could match Sherlock's iron will made him giddy. Sherlock wanted to tame him, but he'd had more than his fair share of simpering Alphas. This, Sherlock hoped, would be different.

Sherlock noticed the way John's throat would bob and the nervous slide of his tongue over his lips, then the way the man's gaze would jump from his sister and grimace. He had something to say, but Harry's presence was unwanted.

Abruptly, Sherlock turned to the woman hovering closer to him than was necessary or comfortable. Her musky scent neither excited nor swayed Sherlock into any reaction in particular, yet John's was sharp like bergamot and thick, potent. 

"Thank you, Ms Watson, but your presence is no longer required," Sherlock told her, and seeing that the woman was about to argue, he waved a hand dismissively in her direction. "I'd like to continue the session alone with my client."

When the woman didn't move, simultaneously, Sherlock and John turned to regard her with varying expressions: Sherlock, an irritated glower, and John, with resigned acceptance.

Harry rolled her eyes and turned, wrenching the door open. "Behave, John," she threw over her shoulder, and rushed out the door. Soon after, the sound of the ground floor door opened and slammed, Billy swearing up a storm on the landing. 

Finally, Sherlock had John alone.

The man in question cleared his throat and shifted his weight on his feet, both hands now shoved in his pockets.

"So," John began with a weary sigh, and brought one hand up to massage the nape of his neck as he peered around. "How is all of this supposed to work?"

Sherlock tilted his head, feigning confusion, though he knew what John was referring to, but... John's voice was pleasant and sent a lance of delight plunging through Sherlock's chest whenever he spoke.

"All of this... Alpha taming. I mean, where's your whip," John enquired with a sardonic chuckle, which tapered off pathetically once Sherlock pointed to the mantle over the fireplace where his riding crop lay, gathering dust . Obviously backtracking, John cleared his throat and took a couple of steps away from Sherlock. "You don't mean to use that on _me_?" 

Sherlock smiled. With teeth. 

Of course Sherlock wasn't planning on using the riding crop. Beating was such an archaic method of taming anyone, and unsavoury. He didn't want some whimpering sap crying at his feet. For all that Sherlock warred against his Omega instincts, the action of causing physical pain most often left a bad taste in his mouth. Biologically, Sherlock was a nurturer - an abhorrent, obstructive attribute - and relied on the notion that reverting to physical violence wasn't the only means of recourse in subduing someone. The mind was a powerful weapon in itself that Sherlock gleefully took full advantage of when it came to manipulation and psychological games. 

No, Sherlock wasn't going to use physical means to get what he wanted. Words would be enough.

John was an army man, one who relied heavily on morals and doing what he thought was right for himself and everyone around him, judging by the fact that he allowed his sister to drag him to Baker Street. He cared what others thought of him. How touching.

"I want you to tell me why you believe you're here," Sherlock challenged, nearly giddy with the prospect of a fiery exchange, and finally - _finally!_ \- something _interesting_. 

John's gaze narrowed until only a sliver of those ocean water eyes were peeking through. The pheromones of an angry Alpha flooded through the room in a heady aroma imbued with a sharp sweetness that Sherlock likened to Hydrogen Cyanide. Unmistakably perilous, but impossible to ignore. 

"Funny you should ask, when I'm sure you've had me all figure out the moment I stepped foot through the door," John returned placidly, his eyes hardening around the edges as he stared back, unperturbed. 

At Sherlock's raised brow, John paced a slow, disconcerting half circle around the room as he began to speak. "Fortunately for me, I did my research before I came." Sherlock found the draw of his eyes to John's broad upper back, irresistible, the bunch of his muscles as he walked with his hands folded behind him. "Sherlock Holmes, the 'Great Alpha Tamer'."

Sherlock felt his back stiffen at the jibe, ready to lash out, until he caught John's eyes mid-revolution. All movement ceased, until it was the two of them, stuck in a strange dance of wills and pride. Sherlock felt unbalanced by this Alpha. 

It wasn't as if he hadn't met an Alpha who'd tried to turn Sherlock's game around on him, but Sherlock was nothing if not a wordsmith, and often he found it infantile and dreadfully dull listening to idiots try and outwit him. John Watson was uninspiring in many ways, a seemingly ordinary man trying to fit into an ordinary lifestyle, unmemorable and desperate to blend. So what was it about him that evoked such a reaction from Sherlock?

Sherlock turned, so that he was fully facing John, willing his heart to settle underneath a keen gaze. Is this how others felt when Sherlock read them? The scrutiny was invigorating and Sherlock grew hot at the thought of those eyes watching him in a much different scenario. 

"Hm, depends on your sources. I'm sure there are many things you've read about me," Sherlock sniffed, though he was quite enjoying the exchange.

John's smile softened into something less lethal, yet just as ambiguous. Why was the man so infuriatingly hard to read? "' Sherlock Holmes, tamer of over fifty feral Alphas, all within two years of practicing. Will he be the next Victor Trevor?'" John stopped, moving closer, and Sherlock couldn't withhold the small shiver that rolled up his spine. Less than a foot of space between them when John paused. "I don't know, Sherlock Holmes, do you think you can tame me?"

Did Sherlock really want to tame John? The man was obviously struggling from Post-traumatic stress disorder, from the way his eyes constantly darted back and forth from the door to the only other individual in the room to the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes from insomnia. This was not Sherlock's first run-in with a war-weary veteran and it wouldn't be the last, but whatever needed to be done, Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he wanted to break John. 

Sherlock smirked, but the fluttering in his stomach intensified. The room was getting warmer, and Sherlock didn't know if it was the proximity to the Alpha or his own body, possibly both. A bead of sweat swelled at his hairline, and he watched helplessly, as the Alpha tracked its progress down Sherlock's temple with an intense gaze.

Fuck, it was getting warm.

Outside, the blare of a horn tore Sherlock's attention away from John and allowed for a short minute to regroup.

"Need I remind you that time is limited. I suggest that we cut straight to the point, as I have business to attend." It was a coward's way out, but Sherlock never felt more disarmed and at a loss as he did then. It didn't sit well. "You're here about your PTSD, I assume."

John's lips compressed tightly and his answering nod was stiff. 

"And you're afraid that you will hurt someone if you can't contain it." It was a statement, but John agreed nonetheless. 

Usually, once Sherlock reached the bottom of an issue, it wasn't hard to proceed from there. Any other client, and Sherlock would be halfway through the session and quickly reaching a conclusion. 

Many believed that taming an Alpha involved whips and chains, and radical methods of breaking one's spirit. Sherlock was aware that there were many tamers who chose such means to get through to an Alpha, but Sherlock chose a rather unconventional method. 

Every Alpha had a weakness, an issue that Sherlock could press until it gave way for compromise and logical thinking. For most, it was love or money, sometimes both, but one was always greater than the other. For Sherlock's previous client, Sebastian Wilkes, his weakness was money. Wilkes would do anything to stay wealthy and in a position of power. No matter how bruised Wilkes' ego over his stolen Omega, no one cared for a tyrant. All Sherlock needed to do was pinpoint that fear and expound on it. Sherlock's job was to cut through the feral aspect of an untamed Alpha and hit the pressure points. Wilkes had to understand that either he would get over his former Omega and move on, or he would lose his company.

Of course, being an Omega was crucial to the art of taming. For thousands of years, Alphas depended on the practicality and assurance of Omegas, and most often Omegas held powerful positions in the government because of these traits. Alphas were easily persuaded by Omegas, as Sherlock's mentor, Victor Trevor, once demonstrated.

Long after Victor retired from his life's work, Sherlock remembered clearly his mentor's flawless manipulations of the Alpha's under his care. Throughout the years, Victor had tamed many impossible Alphas, and profited greatly from it, as well as made a name for himself amongst the A/B/O community. Sherlock, being Victor's protégé, naturally inherited his mentor's legacy and expanded it. Some would call it therapy, but taming entailed a level of psychological intimacy that delved further than simply talking over one's problems. 

With John, Sherlock could see that the man was unfalteringly moralistic and unusually steadfast. All it would take was a bit of probing, and Sherlock would have John cracked open, just as disgustingly easy as the rest.

"Would you care to take a seat?" Sherlock made certain to curve his words on the tail end of the sentence, though they both knew that it was a thinly veiled demand. 

John smiled and ambled over to the armchair across from Sherlock's, and sank down in the seat, spreading his legs in an enticing display that Sherlock knew was intentional. The sight of John's capable body made Sherlock feverish with the thought of it fitting so perfectly between his legs. 

Why was he so susceptible to John's pheromones? Usually such things scents eluded him, but his sinuses was clearer than ever, and Sherlock might just bare his neck if only to have John's lips against his skin-

"All right," John's voice cut into his thoughts, and Sherlock flushed with the realization that he was properly fantasizing about his client right in front of him. "You look a bit peaky," he finished with some concern. 

Sherlock touched a trembling hand to his forehead. He was warm. "Yes, I'm- I'm fine. Let's continue."

For the majority of what was left of their hour, Sherlock prodded and John, for the most part, stayed infuriatingly closed mouth when he didn't feel comfortable answering. The amount of progress could be equated to zilch.

It was at the conclusion of their meeting, while Sherlock was deciding on a delicate approach to suggest another meeting, that a strange sensation began to build in his lower half. As unpleasant as it was wringing answers from John, Sherlock found that the thought of John leaving and never seeing him again was equally undesirable. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, and then promptly closed it again at the uncomfortable clench in his lower abdomen. With the suppressants, it was a sensation he hadn't been privy to in years.

Quickly, Sherlock stood, already feeling his pants grow damp with moisture. John stood as well, his jaw clenched tight and nostrils flared as he backed towards the door. "Uh, Sherlock? I think-"

"Yes, yes. I'm aware." Sherlock scowled, angry with himself for not recognizing the symptoms before. Whipping around towards the window, Sherlock ran jittery fingers through his already chaotic hair. 

Fuck. John's pheromones must have somehow overridden the suppressants and sent Sherlock into a premature Heat cycle. 

"Stupid, stupid," Sherlock growled, slapping a hand against the side of his head in frustration. How could he have allowed himself to be so blinded. 

John crossed the room slowly, cautious and just as clueless as Sherlock was. "Hey, easy, Sherlock. It's not like you knew this was going to happen." John reached out then, to pull Sherlock's hands away from his hair, and Sherlock gasped.

John's hands on his skin was a phenomenal sensation, as if every nerve in his body was acting on electrical impulses, activated by John's touch. Sherlock wanted to move closer, push his body against John's and offer himself up.

As soon as John's skin met his own, Sherlock watched his eyes dilate to twice their size, a near complete eclipse that Sherlock could feel his body responding to in kind.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock wanted to pull away, but damn, the man cut an attractive figure, appealing and beautifully commanding. He wanted him, even if for a few hours. Sherlock was not so irresponsible that he didn't have a remedy for a situation such as the one he was currently in, sitting in his bathroom cabinet, so what was holding him back from retrieving it?

The scent of his own excitement mingled with the aromatic musk of an equally aroused Alpha, and Sherlock was inhaling greedily, befuddled and on the verge of tipping over. A minute later, Billy was bounding up the stairs, tripping over the creaky fourth step in his haste.

"Mr Holmes, are you- hey, mate! I think you should step away from 'im," Billy ordered in a high-pitched, wobbly demand. "Mr Holmes is this bloke botherin' you?"

It was obvious that Billy was affected by the wave of pheromones settling over the room like a cloud. For all that the young Omega was trying to be brave, Billy was sweating profusely and his large, green eyes had grown bleary and dilated.

"Get out," Sherlock hissed, pulling away from John's grip, only to have to steady himself with both hands on the windowsill behind him. 

When John flinched away and made to back towards the door, Sherlock exhaled sharply at the sensation that the cold pane of glass inspired across his skin. "Not you, John. You stay. Billy, go home and don't come back until I call for you." 

"I ain't leavin' you here with 'im, Mr Holmes. What if he tries to... you know," Billy hissed back in a stage whisper, making some lewd gesture with his fingers to complement his statement. 

Idiot. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it, suffering a bout of vertigo that had him panting. He needed John, wanted John, and Billy was _ruining_ everything.

Steeling himself, Sherlock made a beeline for Billy, grabbing the younger Omega by the scruff of his shirt and hauling him towards the door, intent on throwing the stubborn fool out. "Go home, Billy," he ordered tersely, unable to stomach another fertile Omega in the same vicinity as the Alpha that Sherlock planned on having in his bed in less than five minutes, if things went his way.

This need aggravated Sherlock. He hated not being able to think straight, but even before the Heat hit him so suddenly, Sherlock couldn't deny that the thought of coitus with John was compelling. Sherlock didn't often appeal to his baser needs, but his Heat, though unexpected, couldn't have offered a better segue.

When Sherlock was sure that Billy was out of the building, he turned with his back to the door, trembling as he noticed the dark, unrelenting gaze settled upon him from the room's only other occupant. His stomach felt effervescent and his flesh vibrated with anticipation.

John, an intimidating, steady presence, only watched until the air was thick enough to suffocate them both. "Are you sure this is what you want?" 

Was he sure?

Sherlock had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Smiling, though not at all amused, Sherlock leaned body against the door and craned his neck back casually, returning the stare from beneath lowered lids. "Obviously," he answered, but it lacked its usual bite, replaced by something base and depraved. 

John was still clearly unsure, but Sherlock could see the moment his control slipped and the man was moving quickly across the room. When they were nearly touching, so close that Sherlock could feel the heat from John's body wrapping around him like a warm blanket, John paused. Sherlock couldn't look away, and he didn't want to. He had this Alpha, had earned him, and no, this one couldn't be broken, because Sherlock didn't want to. 

When John's large hands landed on his waist, Sherlock's eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He pushed up into the touch, allowing their aching erections to meet with an inelegant thrust. 

It had been months since Sherlock even fooled with the notion of skipping on his suppressants, and though he hadn't, he couldn't have picked a better partner. 

John was breathing hard against his neck where it was still bared, beads of sweat slipping from the nape of Sherlock's neck and down his back at the contact. 

More. Sherlock needed more.

A steady vibration was humming against the dip of his neck, and Sherlock slid down the wall, boneless, realizing that his body was responding to the wordless communication. A deep, guttural growl was emitting from John's throat, and Sherlock responded in kind. His bent legs were open and Sherlock knew how wanton he appeared, staring up from beneath his lashes with his cock pressed up against his trousers. 

John was standing over him, his erection less than a foot away from Sherlock's greedy lips. Sherlock wanted to take it, swallow it and feel the heaviness of John's cock on his tongue. John's cheeks were splotched, a quilt-work patch of blood and tanned skin, and even in all that, his eyes stood out like cobalt stones. 

"You want me," Sherlock stated, as if it even needed to be said, but his tongue burned with the fact. "You want to strip me naked and bury yourself inside me. I can see it, the way you keep licking your lips compulsively." And, indeed, for the third time in five minutes, John's tongue was peeking out to run over dry lips that Sherlock wanted to taste. 

"I'm not going to wait forever. My fingers are long enough to bring myself pleasure, but I'd rather have this," Sherlock's hand shot out, grabbing a handful of John's groin in his palms, and leaned forward to run his lips across the bulge, "inside of me."

John was breathing hard, and Sherlock could see the way he hesitated. 

That simply wouldn't do.

Sherlock began to mouth John's erection through his trousers, running his tongue over the denim as he trailed one hand down the front of his own body and massaged his swollen genitals. Lubrication was soaking through the seat of his pants, a siren call for the Alpha he was intent on seducing. 

Not once did Sherlock look away, and he knew that John was ensnared. For once, Sherlock willed this Alpha to lose control. John didn't keep him waiting.

Sherlock touching himself seemed to loose the leash John kept on his reactions. It was gratifying to hear that growl become a snarl, and strong fingers tangle in his curls. 

One moment, Sherlock was on his knees and the next, he was flat on his back being desperately devoured by a feral Alpha.

Their teeth were clashing and more than once, John had dealt a sharp nip to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock moaned against his lips, enjoying the feel of his legs wrapped tightly round John's waist. 

When Sherlock attempted to push back, John forcefully slammed him back down, and it took everything in Sherlock not to let fly a maniacal laugh, because _this_ was what the rut was all about and _nobody_ ever understood what Sherlock wanted.

Even as an Omega, Sherlock was still a man and delicacy was for someone with a slack spine. 

Sherlock pitched his hips up and pressed his upper back to the ground, moaning as John took hold of them and hitched Sherlock's legs over his shoulder. Sherlock could feel John's muscular rhomboids against his calves, and he squeezed, pushing John's face against his trousers. 

John made a noise between a frustrated groan and a wheeze as he inhaled the scent of Sherlock's slick. 

"Do it, do-"

"Shut up," John growled and slid back until Sherlock's legs fell from their perch on John's shoulder, and his arse was lying in John's laps. John pulled him up until Sherlock was sitting in his lap, panting into each other's mouths with crazed smiles. "Show me what you want me to do to you."

John's breath was sweet against his face, and Sherlock watched as those eyes burned a trail down Sherlock's body, heated and more telling than any words the man could say. Sherlock ran his hands up John's shoulders and up, up, up into a crown of golden strands and clenched. Slowly, Sherlock began to undulate his hips over John's erection, rendering himself breathless at the tortuous friction. John's hands were at his hips, guiding them as his lips played succulently at junction of his jaw and neck.

Steadily, those wicked hands traversed until they were cupping Sherlock's buttocks, cradling them in a firm hold, moving with Sherlock's motions.

"This can't possibly be what you had in mind," John whispered, clicking his tongue with disappointment at Sherlock's exhibition. "Not with the way you were just on your knees for me."

Sherlock paused, wanting to snap at the Alpha to get on with it, but when would he have this chance again? If this were his last meeting with John, wouldn't he want it to be memorable for the both of them? That would assure that this wouldn't be the last time they met.

"Come on, Sherlock. Show me."

John was deliberately taunting him, waiting for Sherlock to lash out or react in a desired fashion. Sherlock was aching, and at this point, he would do just about anything to have John inside of him.

So with vigour, Sherlock began to rut on John's lap, growling as John's teeth clamped down on his shoulder. John's hands were still guiding his movements, shoved beneath his waistband to press against Sherlock's bare waist. He was sure there would be bruises there the next day, but no matter. By that time, Sherlock would be sated and hopefully indulging in another taste.

They were kissing frantically again, and the need to shed clothes and rub flesh was overwhelming. John had already pulled at Sherlock's shirt until the buttons flung away to a dusty corner. It was Sherlock's favourite shirt, but he could cry about it later, after John fucked him.

"You want to fuck me," Sherlock hissed against John's lips, unable to still his hips where they met John's over and over, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. "Stop stalling and _fuck_ me, you idiotic Alpha!" 

John froze, and Sherlock along with him, a flame of excitement igniting as he felt that acute sense of danger from the Alpha. 

Then, Sherlock was falling back to the floor, and a powerful grip was pulling on his trousers and pants. His thighs, once revealed, were slick and shiny in the low light, and John licked his lips in apparent anticipation. He made short work of his own clothes, shucking them off and to the side.

Sherlock watched, chest heaving as John lowered his hips. Sherlock pressed back into the floor and willed John to push into him. With his eyes closed, Sherlock waited for the inevitable-

A loud groan ripped from his throat as John pressed his nose further, further down until Sherlock was once again balancing on his upper back. Embarrassingly enough, Sherlock began to whimper as John's tongue peeked out, licking up the juices that were now trailing up his back with the change of position. 

John's hands came up to the backs of Sherlock's knees, opening him up to that slick muscle. 

John was consuming him, and the sounds were nearly as delicious as the display. Sherlock's body was wracked with shudders while he stared helplessly as John swallowed his juices straight from the source. The smack of John's lips should have been lewd, but Sherlock only pushed up into it, watching John watch him. There was something so predatory and primal there that Sherlock didn't often see. This Alpha craved danger and debauchery just as much as Sherlock, and to find his equal was as promising as it was frightening. What if he left, and Sherlock was never to see him again? Would anyone ever intrigue him as John Watson had?

John's tongue made a maddeningly slow revolution around the rim of Sherlock's anus, before dipping in again, lapping up his essence with furtive flicks.

Sherlock could feel himself going into a frenzy. The fact that he'd been able to stay coherent this long was a miracle, but now he was ready to give in to the Heat. 

He didn't have to beg. John knew what he wanted. Before Sherlock could come, John unraveled Sherlock's legs from round his neck. He hadn't noticed he'd wrapped them so tightly round John.

John stopped when he was finally cradled between Sherlock's thighs and his cock, nestled in Sherlock's arse cheeks. For a moment, everything else didn't matter and Sherlock allowed his himself to stop thinking, a feat he'd always thought was impossible. John was shaking with restrained fervour, and he probably wasn't in a much better condition. 

The kiss, this time, was gentle and titillating. John was careful as he eased in, never breaking their embrace. It was a moment that Sherlock would never forget. Though he'd just discovered the existence of this Alpha, Sherlock felt they'd met before. Of course, he wasn't delirious enough to believe all that trifle about soul mates, but... why did it seem as if they'd known one another for a lifetime. 

Sherlock reached up and wrapped his arms around John's neck, rolling his eyes at his own sentimental musings. If John left, developing feelings would be unwise and detrimental to Sherlock's work. 

When John began to move, nothing else mattered, because Sherlock finally had what he wanted. 

Throughout the course of their interaction, the room had grown stifling, and so their bodies moved slickly against one another, moist and warm. Sherlock's hands moved up and tangled in John's hair, hanging on as John moved inside of him. 

John was breathing his air, and Sherlock, John's, and all Sherlock could think of was cobalt. Those eyes that understood him, bared him, made him feel curiously strange. It was delightful, and Sherlock pushed back, wanting to give John a reason to return.

The rhythm of John's hips sped up, until they were both grunting with the force of John's thrusts, wet bodies sliding against the wood in increments. It was unrealistically sensual and Sherlock could feel that surge of blessed relief creeping up on him. 

John nipped his jaw, and they bumped noses as Sherlock reached up and initiated a hard kiss, imbued with all the passion of their meeting and the hope of future clandestine moments.

Sherlock was the first to reach his climax, shuddering through it with full body trembles. John gazed down at him with half opened eyes, panting through swollen lips. 

There was wetness against his chest, his own semen, and shortly after, John's, as he pulled out to come with a choked groan. Feeling proprietary and startled with himself, Sherlock rubbed their joined seed into his chest, bringing it up to inhale and ingest with an exploratory tongue. 

John slumped down over him, so that they were stuck together with only their mixed fluids between them. 

Whatever happened, Sherlock had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last he would see of John Watson. 

As if John had read his thoughts, John lifted his head and peered down at Sherlock with a boyish, silly smile that he was helpless to return. "What?"

John snickered and put his head back down to Sherlock's shoulder. "So, when's our next appointment?"

Before the words had even fully left John's mouth, Sherlock was already rolling them over, prepared to sink down on John's inflating prick.

"Right now."


End file.
